In The Moment
by AlinaLotus
Summary: Everybody thinks they're identical, but they know differently. Much differently. Gift fic for hogwartshoodlum. Fred/George twincest; don't like, don't read.


**As the summary states, this is an anniversary fic for hogwartshoodlum. 3 years baby, going on eternity. Graphic language and sexual situations between twins to follow. It's quite short, more of a drabble really, and it's my first time writing Fred/George, so feedback is definitely appreciated. Takes place when Fred and George are living in the flat above their shop. **

**Do enjoy. **

Everybody thinks they're identical, but they know differently. Much differently. For instance, when George smiles (the adorably mischievous smile that to Fred always sounds like '_come hither_' and he finds himself feelingwhishingwanting George's mouth on him, up and down and everywhere) the left side of his mouth is slightly more upturned, and Fred knows just how it feels beneath his own smirk. There's also their eyebrows--Fred's are exactly two shades darker than George's, the color they grew back as after an experiment with the Snack Boxes singed all the hair from his face.

And, Fred notes, as he kisses his way from George's left hip to George's right hip, their freckles aren't at all in the same places, and George has a birthmark on his inner thigh, (shaped like a quarter moon, and Fred loves to trace it with the tip of his tongue, loves to hear George's sharp intake of breath because his brother's mouth is _so close_) whereas his own birthmark is on the back of his neck.

"You're gorgeous," George says later, when the tables have turned and now Fred is at mercy, his voice throaty and full of arousal, his breath hot on Fred's earlobe.

Fred's eyes flutter shut and he tips his head back onto George's shoulder, his skin on fire where George's finger tips are tracing, around his rib cage and down his sides, lightly grasping his hips, then continuing to deliciously torture his twin, his soul mate, his other half, the only one he loves enough to be this close to, the only one he _wants_ to be this close to.

"Merlin, George," Fred breathes, and George hears that he's ready, that he needs something, a release.

George turns Fred around and drops to his knees, both of them moaning as George wraps his hand around Fred's length, hard and smooth, and George can't help but put his free hand on his own erection, moving his palm against it in time with his ministrations on Fred, and it's only seconds later that he comes, spurts into his hand, wet and warm and Fred jolts forward as George takes him in his mouth, and they are both in ecstasy because there is nothing as good, George knows, as Fred's full, throbbing length pressed against his tongue, and Fred feels the exact same way.

"Fucking hell," Fred says, and George knows it's time, and he removes his lips from his twin, and pulls his hand down to his own cock, already slightly stiff again, and Fred knows exactly what do to, knows exactly how to squeeze his thumb and index finger, how to roughly handle George's cock, just the way he likes it.

Precum is dripping from Fred's tip, and he (somewhat shakily) gets on his knees, his palms pressed against the floor, and looks over his shoulder at George, whose hands are cupped lovingly around Fred's arse. "Don't keep me waiting baby," Fred practically begs.

George grins that lopsided smile, and licks the tips of his fingers, pressing them up and _into _Fred, who cries out in pleasure, and if George never stopped fingering him like this, he thinks he could live, but then something much larger is against him, and slowly, _so fucking slowly_, George enters Fred, who is shaking with need, and pulls out again, then slams hard, and he hits Fred's prostate, Fred arching his back, pushing himself against George, the friction driving both of them mad, and it makes them both gasp and cry out when they orgasm at the same time.

They lay on the floor of their flat, the wood cold in the late hours of the Winter night, their bodies clinging together not just for body heat, but for closeness too. They're wrapped in a crocheted blanket, one of their mum's Christmas presents. There isn't much to say, right now, because they both know that the war is raging outside their little home, that death and betrayals and blood and everything else that it brings is waiting for them, searching for them, but right now, at least, they are content in this moment to be with the one they love the most.

**Well, as I said, it was short, but I hope it's what you wanted baby. **


End file.
